Warrior’s Cross

Chapter Nine

Cameron was gathering goblets when Sylvia practically flew into the service area, catching everyone’s attention. “Cam,” she hissed. “He’s back.”

Cameron’s chin snapped around, and he stared at her. “He?” His heart hammered in his chest.

“The scary guy,” she answered breathlessly, getting Miri’s attention as she walked by them.

Cameron’s hand tightened on the crystal glass in his hand. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Look,” Sylvia whispered as she moved toward the door and its small window.

The past few weeks had marched by uneventfully with no sign of Arlo Lancaster, who had so unnerved him, and also no sign of Julian after he and Preston had run Lancaster off that night. Cameron’s life had calmed and settled into a daily blur... until now.

They could barely see the man from their angle; Lancaster had requested the same quiet table he’d been given the first time, and he sat in the chair that allowed him to watch the door. As they peered at him, Keri led another man to the table to join him. A tall, dark, handsome man they all recognized.

Cameron’s breath caught as he looked upon Julian for the first time in months. He slowly leaned forward, grasping the counter tightly as he looked out through the slats. His chest suddenly ached badly, so badly he could barely swallow.

Julian stood by the side of the table for a long moment, managing to look large and intimidating even in the finely tailored suit. Lancaster leaned back in his chair casually, looking up at Julian almost insolently before he stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and offered his hand with a few words in greeting. Julian looked down at the hand for a moment, and then he grasped it and shook it stiffly. He looked around, seeming almost uneasy, and he unbuttoned his jacket slowly as he sat opposite Lancaster.

They sat silently, staring at each other.

“This is not good,” Sylvia whispered at Cameron’s side. “What do we do?”

Cameron stared through the blinds, feeling his emotions drain away. He’d been too upset, too scared, too lonely, all for too long. It was too much to feel any of it right now, so he buried it deep down.

“We do what we always do,” he answered flatly, voice becoming more firm as he spoke. “This has nothing to do with us.”

“What are you talking about?” Miri asked from Cameron’s other side.

“We don’t know them. We don’t know them from any other customers,” Cameron told them. Ignorance would keep them safe.

Julian had taught him that.

The women nodded slowly, and they all looked back out at the two dangerous men.

They seemed to be complete opposites. Julian sat proper and tense, his face expressionless as he looked at the other man. Lancaster, though, sat slightly sideways with his elbow propped on the back of his chair, reclining casually with his ankle resting on his knee. He was grinning impishly and meeting Julian’s eyes unflinchingly.

Cameron straightened and tugged at his collar before smoothing down the front of his shirt. He picked up the card listing the evening special and walked out of the service area.

How he found the determination, he didn’t know. How he knew what was going down was wrong, he didn’t know. All he could do was follow Julian’s lead as he’d seen it before—do his job and pretend not to know the man who had been his lover.

When he got to the table, Lancaster had just begun to speak in a low voice. “You’re a hard man to track,” he said in amusement. “Hiding in your castle. Might as well be Bruce Wayne.”

“Does that make you the Joker?” Julian asked flatly, clearly not amused.

Cameron paused a few feet away, completely taken aback by the sound of Julian’s voice in a melodic Irish accent. It was right, but it wasn’t. He’d never heard Julian use an accent. Maybe it was something he was doing with Lancaster? Something to hide his identity? If so, he was really good at it.

Lancaster laughed softly and nodded.

“Why are we here?” Julian asked with the barest hint of annoyance.

“I heard you like this place,” Lancaster answered innocently. “The food is delicious. Although the service is somewhat lacking.”

Julian was silent, staring at his companion blankly, and Cameron took that as his cue to approach the table. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he greeted, trying desperately to keep his voice from wavering. “My name is Cameron, and I’ll be your server tonight.” His voice, thankfully, came out purely professional, as was his manner. He rattled off the night’s special without looking at either man and then asked,

“Would you like to start with some wine?” He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact, especially with Julian.

Lancaster looked up at Cameron with a large grin. “Wine sounds wonderful,” he drawled happily. “Bring us your most expensive bottle,” he requested as he looked back at Julian almost challengingly. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

From the corner of his eye, Cameron saw Julian’s jaw clench.

Cameron tipped his head in a brief nod and set the specials card between them. “Right away, sir,” he murmured before he strode away to get the wine and glasses.

Somewhere deep inside he reeled at being so close to Julian again and not being able to do anything about it. But he knew he couldn’t let that little bit of himself out. He just couldn’t . If he did, there would be no reining it in again. That fear he’d always felt on Julian’s behalf, the fear that his lover would be hurt or even killed, was back full force. As Cameron re-entered the service area, he realized that he felt it even though he wasn’t with Julian anymore—and that he’d much rather feel it being with Julian.

“What are they saying?” Miri demanded in a hushed whisper as she and Sylvia crowded around him.

“You should be working,” Cameron said sharply as he walked to the fine wines cabinet and pulled out the best wine the restaurant offered. He carefully wiped down the bottle and picked up two glasses and set it all on the tray. But he had to pause as his hands shook enough that the classes touched together with a quiet chime.

“Jesus,” Sylvia muttered as she looked at the expensive wine.

“What, are they on a date?” she added distractedly.

“Don’t ask,” Cameron muttered darkly.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Miri said to him in a hushed voice. “You can see the tension over there. I could cut it with one of Jean-Michel’s knives!”

Cameron picked up the tray, righting the slight bobble and then pausing for a steadying breath. “They’re just customers,” he said, reminding himself as well as them. He left the girls behind and carried the tray to the table, setting it on the nearby stand before presenting the linen-wrapped bottle.

Lancaster looked down at it and nodded his head at Julian. “Let him try it, if you please,” he requested.

Julian continued to stare at him wordlessly. Both of his hands were resting on the table in front of him; Cameron knew he usually kept at least one of them in his lap when he ate. He also knew why, but he didn’t want to think about that right now. Lancaster sat with both of his hands above the table as well. They reminded Cameron of Old West poker players, always keeping their hands in sight. Miri was right; the tension was palpable.

Cameron set down the bottle as he pulled out the corkscrew. He opened the bottle efficiently, surprised his hands weren’t shaking anymore, let it air for a moment, and then poured a couple sips’ worth into one of the glasses before offering it to Julian without a word.

Cameron finally let his eyes settle on his ex-lover, and he felt a pang of longing so strong it almost doubled him over.

Julian still stared at Lancaster intently, his entire body coiled and tense. Finally, he dragged his eyes away and took the glass. He looked up to Cameron, and in his dark eyes there was a spark of something Cameron had never seen there.

It might have been . . . fear.

Julian sipped at the wine and nodded his silent approval. Cameron couldn’t do anything but stand there, the bottle clutched in one hand, after he saw that look in Julian’s eyes. He wondered if it was a reaction to his presence or to Lancaster’s. Cameron made himself look over to the other man and offer the wine bottle.

Lancaster nodded without looking at him, waving his hand through the air as he smirked at Julian. “So, what will it be, Julian?” he asked smoothly. “The special?” he asked sarcastically.

Cameron took up the empty glass silently and filled it just over halfway before setting it down in front of Lancaster carefully.

Lancaster’s words and tone scared him—the man had obviously researched Julian somehow. He seemed to know him well. Cameron swallowed and tried not to flinch.

Lancaster took the glass and held it up, as if ready to make a toast.

He smiled at Julian, his eyes warm and friendly even though Cameron instinctively knew it was a mask.

“What was that toast you taught me, Jules?” Lancaster asked Julian with a smile. “Something very Irish,” he mused as he tried to remember it.

Julian stared at him, obviously having no intention of answering.

Cameron glanced at Julian carefully as he lifted Julian’s glass, filled it as well, set it down along with the bottle, and waited silently, although he edged away from the table. He had taught this man toasts? Picturing Julian with a boisterous crowd of drunks, reciting “very Irish” toasts didn’t seem right to Cameron. Had he truly known his lover even a little bit? He moved a half-step backward.

“May those who love us love us,” Lancaster said suddenly as he held up his wine. “And those that don’t love us, may God turn their hearts. And if He doesn’t turn their hearts, may He turn their ankles, so we’ll know them by their limping.”

Julian pursed his lips, leaning forward slowly and finally resting his elbows on the table as he looked across at the other man. His dinner companion leaned forward to meet him with relish.

“You really think this is how it works?” Julian asked in a low, dangerous voice. The Irish accent sent a shiver through Cameron’s body, and he couldn’t help but stare at Julian, wondering how many other things he had never known about the man. “You think you can come into my city without retribution?” Julian continued. “You think you’ll make it to dessert?” he practically snarled.

Lancaster’s smile vanished, and he gave one quick nod of his head.

“You should have thought of that before you taught me everything you knew,” he murmured in a voice to match. “The special?” he asked in a completely different tone as he sat back. He nodded again. “We’ll both have the special,” he told Cameron with a smug, satisfied smile.

Cameron’s eyes bounced back and forth between them, and he could only nod jerkily. “The salad will be out shortly,” he said. It came out weak to his ears. He collected the menus and turned away. As he did so, he saw Julian raise his own wine-glass and hold it up to Lancaster. “To your limp, Arlo,” he said solemnly.

Behind him, a small clank and a grunt of pain signified that one of the men he’d left behind had just kicked the other under the table.

If he hadn’t been so terrified, Cameron might have laughed.

“Why are you here?” Julian asked through gritted teeth.

“Because your time has run out,” Arlo answered bluntly. “You’ve been doing the wrong work for the wrong people, mate. Informing for the police? Sound familiar?” he asked cheekily.

“We all do what we have to,” Julian responded in a low voice.

Arlo knew more than even Julian had suspected he would.

“But you didn’t have to, Jules,” Arlo argued, the smile still on his face. “You don’t need the money. You don’t even need the work anymore. The only reason you still do it is because you enjoy it,” he accused knowingly.

Julian gritted his teeth harder and lowered his head slightly, refusing to look away.

“You enjoy the stalking. The fear. You enjoy the killing, and you always will. You’re not one of the fucking good guys, so why try to tell yourself you are?”

Julian sat back slightly, taking in a deep breath. The hell of it was that Arlo was right. He enjoyed what he did. He was good at it and always had been. He had, in the end, been given a choice. Remain one of the bad guys or be loved. And he had walked away from love. He’d chosen to be a killer rather than to be with Cameron.

“Were you behind the big fucking dog?” he finally asked Arlo.

Arlo actually laughed. “No,” he answered with a gleeful shake of his head. “But I heard about it.” He practically giggled. “Juvenile, but still slightly brilliant.”

Julian sighed and took a long sip of wine.

“If I don’t take you, someone else will,” Arlo told him, suddenly serious again. “It’s just a matter of time.”

Julian met his eyes and nodded. “Someone else,” he repeated grimly. “The man who hired you. Tell me who he is,” he demanded. “You know I can get to him. You won’t have to do this.”

Arlo responded with a slow, wicked grin. “What makes you think I don’t want to?” he asked.

Twenty minutes after taking their orders, Cameron arrived at the table with the two entrées. The mood at the table had gone steadily downhill, but somehow it helped Cameron maintain his distance. It was like a husband and wife squabbling. He wouldn’t get involved then, and he wouldn’t get involved now. But he still had to listen.

He lifted the two covered plates and approached the table. When he set the dinners in front of them, Lancaster gave it a sniff and quirked an eyebrow. “What is this, exactly?” he asked Julian.

“Shut up and enjoy it,” Julian snarled.

Lancaster looked from him to Cameron. “What is this?”

Cameron blinked at him for a moment before answering. “Snapping turtle soufflé and Southern red-eye gravy with pommes frites.”

“Jesus Christ, Jules,” Lancaster groaned as he sat back and glared.

“You want to go into tonight with nothing but a few hundred dollars of wine in you, be my fucking guest,” Julian muttered.

“I can get you another entrée,” Cameron felt compelled to offer.

Lancaster was watching as Julian started to eat, and he wrinkled his nose distastefully. “This is fine,” he muttered. “Thank you,” he gritted out.

“This was always your problem, you know that?” Julian said to him heatedly as he dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter.

Cameron had rarely seen this level of emotion from him, especially in public. “You were all show and no real substance. You never fucking did your research.”

“I found you, didn’t I?” Lancaster shot back.

Cameron withdrew without his usual reminder to flag him down if they needed anything. No way was he interfering in that conversation.

“Eat your fucking dinner,” he heard Julian snarl again as he left.

It would have been comical if Julian hadn’t sounded so furious.

Cameron tended to his other tables and kept an eye on that one, just in case violence erupted. He didn’t think it would—he thought Julian had nearly limitless control—but tonight it seemed like Julian’s anger bordered on rage.

When Cameron glanced back several minutes later, he saw Lancaster upend the wine bottle over his glass and shake it. He dreaded going back to the table, but he knew he had no choice.

“More wine?” he asked quietly as he stepped up beside the table.

Both men answered at the same time, Julian with a resounding “No” and Lancaster with a cheerful “Please!”

The waiter raised a doubtful eyebrow, suddenly seeing the morbid humor of the situation. It wasn’t at all funny. These two men were at each other’s throats, but there was an element to it that made him want to laugh hysterically. “How about I take your plates while you decide?” he offered tentatively.

Julian sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Lancaster through narrowed eyes. Lancaster mirrored him and cocked his head to the side. “Dessert?” he asked with a smirk.

“Go fuck yourself,” Julian answered calmly.

Cameron had no idea what to say and wished he could just walk away. Instead he started picking up both plates and soufflé ramekins.

Lancaster glanced up at him and narrowed his eyes. “You’re the bloke who claimed he didn’t know Julian,” he said. “‘Never heard of him’. Funny that, because my sources told me you two were a bit of a thing,” he continued as he leaned more across the table toward Julian and grinned. “That research thing again,” he mused with a shake of his head.

Cameron couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Julian. He willed Julian to believe that he hadn’t told Lancaster anything. God, if Julian thought he’d betrayed him on top of everything else...

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Cameron managed to get out.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Lancaster laughed wryly. “Don’t worry about it, mate,” he sighed as Julian remained tense and silent. “He doesn’t really care what you do anymore,” he announced as he met Julian’s eyes.

“I’ve been stalking you for weeks, and Jules here hasn’t said word one about it. You’ve got new things going, don’t you, Jules?” he asked maliciously. “No need to bother with the cast-offs.”

Cameron flinched before he could stop himself. Julian, stone-faced as ever, glared at Lancaster without ever bothering to look at Cameron.

“Come on, Jules,” Lancaster invited, still smiling the same charming, almost boyish smile even though his eyes glinted dangerously. “Tell him about it. Tell him about what and who you were doing. Why you never saw him on Sundays and Thursdays. Where you went on Saturday nights after you left him.”

“We’ll take the check,” Julian responded through gritted teeth.

Cameron fled immediately. Once he made it to the service area, he set down the dishes with a clatter and leaned against the counter, shaking and biting his lip hard, trying not to let the tears that threatened loose.

Miri came over and took his arm. “Cam? What do you want us to do?”

He forced himself to straighten and rub his eyes while he took several deep breaths. “You’re staying here, and I’m delivering this check. And hopefully, they’re leaving Tuesdays and not coming back.”

Inside, Cameron was a mess. He’d trusted that there hadn’t been any others while Julian was with him, and he still believed that, perhaps na?vely so. The man was just trying to get a reaction from him. But he didn’t want to think about who might have come after him. A man like Julian could have anything and anyone he wanted. And that, more than anything, was what hurt. That after he’d driven Julian away, he could have been so easily replaced.

Trying to shore up what courage he had left, Cameron collected the ticket, slid it into a leather folder, and went to get rid of them. He needed them gone so he could go find somewhere to fall apart again, worrying about the man he’d given up the right to love.

When Cameron returned to his customers, Lancaster was still leaning over the table, looking at Julian intently. “So,” he was saying in a low voice, “who gets to leave first, eh? Do you want the advantage of time, possibility of losing me and running back to that hidden fortress of yours? Or would you rather I go first, give you the rush of wondering if there’s an ambush waiting?” he asked with relish. “So many ways to die tonight,” he mused almost serenely.

“You shouldn’t enjoy what you do too much,” Julian advised. “It makes you stupid.”

Lancaster threw his head back and laughed.

Cameron slid the leather folder onto the table, collected the other plates and flatware, and stepped away from the table, trying his best to keep his eyes off both men and avoid their attention as he placed the dishes on a waiting tray.

Lancaster sat back and put his hands behind his head, watching Cameron in amusement. “I’ll go first then,” he decided after a moment, still looking at Cameron speculatively. “You’ll want to say goodbye, after all,” he said as he stood and buttoned his suit jacket. He smirked down at Julian, who sat unmoving, watching him. “This was fun,” he announced. “I’ll let word get around,” he promised in a lower voice, leaning over Julian and placing a hand on his shoulder as he spoke into his ear. “They’ll know you were man enough to pay for your own last meal.”

Julian nodded slightly. “You do that,” he muttered.

Lancaster took a step away from the table, stopped short, and put his hand on Cameron’s arm. Cameron flinched. “My condolences for your loss,” Lancaster offered seriously, ignoring Cameron’s reaction, and then he turned and began walking away.

Cameron didn’t move as he watched him leave the restaurant. He wasn’t sure what to think anymore, except that Julian was in a hell of a lot of trouble. Visibly shaken, he turned to face Julian.

Julian was shaking his head as he stood and pulled his black leather billfold out from his breast pocket. “Fucking wine,” he whispered, still in the Irish accent. Cameron was beginning to think it was real. He’d never seen Julian quite so unraveled.

He met Cameron’s eyes briefly before looking back at the money in his hands. “He was lying,” he added as he began counting out the money to pay the bill.

Cameron watched him, aware of the longing and upset in his expression and not caring about hiding it anymore. “Lying about what?” he asked in a pained voice.

Julian looked up at him as if surprised that he’d actually spoken.

“There being anyone other than you,” he answered bluntly.

Cameron inhaled sharply and wrapped his arms around his middle, his eyes remaining locked on Julian the whole time. He had to step back, or he’d never be able to look away. And he realized with a painful jolt that this just might be his last chance. “I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “For what I said.”

Julian looked at him closely and gave a slight jerk of his head to the side in response before looking back down at the money he was counting. “Is that because I’m about to die?” he asked calmly.

Cameron couldn’t stop the soft whimper this time. “No. Because I was afraid. Because you didn’t deserve it,” he said pleadingly, willing Julian to understand.

“Yes, I did,” Julian assured him with a small nod. He placed the rest of the bills on the table and then looked up as he buttoned his jacket. He looked heartbreakingly sad, which scared Cameron even more. “Will you tell Blake something for me?” he asked softly.

Cameron gave a small nod.

“Tell him to run like hell if I don’t come back.”

Cameron swallowed on the knot in his throat and nodded again.

“He’ll be waiting for you, won’t he? Lancaster. He wants to kill you.”

Julian nodded minutely. “Tell Blake I’ll come here if I’m able,” he requested hoarsely.

Cameron could see the tangible defeat on Julian’s shoulders, and it made him angry. Julian had always been strong and stoic, and this ghost of who he had been was wrong. So very wrong.

“You’ve given up,” he said accusingly. “What happened to ‘I’m good at what I do’?” he demanded.

“He’s good at what he does as well,” Julian responded calmly. “There’s a price that comes with doing what I do,” he explained distantly. “We all pay it in the end. Just tell Blake,” he requested, barely able to say the words.

Cameron was struck speechless by the mixture of defeat and longing and fear in the black depths of Julian’s eyes. His heart broke with an almost physical pain as he realized what he had truly done to the man, a man who had once been so magnificent. It had never been Julian who’d been capable of breaking anything in their relationship, Cameron realized. He’d had all the power all along.

Julian opened his mouth as if to say something more, but then he bowed his head slightly and turned, walking out of the restaurant without a backward glance.

Cameron stared at the glass doors where Julian had exited until Blake appeared shortly thereafter, obviously having been forewarned that this little meeting was going to be taking place. Cameron realized his boss had been hiding all these months, and he had no reason to hide now that Lancaster had somehow found Julian.

“Cameron?” Blake murmured to him.

The waiter turned to look at Blake. “He said he’d come back here if he was able,” he said woodenly. “He said if he didn’t that you should run like hell.”

Blake nodded, looking pale and drawn, and he looked at the door as if he could somehow see what was happening somewhere out in the city through the glass. He looked back at Cameron and let out a slow, shaky breath. “Did he say anything else?” he asked worriedly.

Cameron’s reply was a bare whisper. “He said he was about to die.”

Blake saw the last guests out just after midnight, not much later than usual. Leaving the cleanup to the other employees for once, Cameron joined him at the bar.

“Are you waiting for him?” he asked shakily.

Blake nodded as he wiped down the bar. He looked up at Cameron and nodded again. “If he said he’d come here, then he will. And if he doesn’t, it’ll be Lancaster coming after me. If he wants me, he’ll have to walk through a double barrel to get to me,” he said determinedly, and Cameron noticed the shotgun leaning against the bar. He was surprised by its sudden appearance, but he told himself that after Julian, nothing should really shock him anymore. “Julian didn’t run like I begged him to,” Blake said grimly. “I won’t either.”

Cameron stared at him in stunned silence for several moments as he came to a decision. “Can I wait with you?” he finally asked.

Blake looked up at Cameron sadly. “It won’t be pretty, no matter who comes back,” he warned. “He might kill you, too, if he has the chance.”

Cameron merely nodded in return. That scenario was out of his hands, and he knew it. If Arlo wanted him dead, there was nothing he could do to stop him.

As it got later and later, Cameron became more and more worried despite telling himself that everything would work out. Julian would take care of Lancaster and come back, he told himself. What happened after that, Cameron didn’t know. But there was no way he was letting Julian go without a fight. He had to convince Julian that he knew now that what they had was worth it. Worth anything. They’d figure something out. They had to.

He realized now that Julian had been what he was because of who he was, not the other way around. And by asking him to change, Cameron had hurt him more than any bullet or broken foot or dog bite ever could have. He’d hurt himself too, depriving himself of the only man he’d ever truly loved.

Blake wasn’t much comfort as they waited together. The man was almost as worried as Cameron, and he obviously wasn’t the type who was used to sitting around and waiting for the other shoe to drop. He paced and fidgeted, cleaned glasses that were already clean, peeled the label off a bottle of Bushmills whiskey, sat on the stool next to Cameron and spun it back and forth, then got up and paced again.

Cameron simply kept checking the clock.

Blake finally opened the whiskey and poured, setting one glass in front of Cameron. “Drink it. You look like you need it. Lord knows I do,” he muttered. Confirming his words, Blake poured a glass for himself and took an unusually deep drink.

Cameron sipped at the Irish whiskey, just then seeing the irony in it. “Is Julian really Irish?” he asked Blake as he looked down at the drink.

“I have no fucking idea,” Blake answered in frustration. “I’ve never heard him use that one. I’ve heard British, Boston, Spanish, Kurdish, French, Texan, and surfer dude, but never Irish. Might mean it’s the real one, if he never used it,” he said in a distant, rambling tone.

Cameron blinked at him. “Surfer . . . dude?”

Blake waved his hand around. “You know, ‘Chillax, bra, we just gotta harvest some dead presidents’ kind of shit.” His voice had parodied the SoCal accent he was aiming for. “He only used it on the phone because he couldn’t pull it off in person.”

Cameron nodded, wide-eyed, wondering if there was anyone who truly knew Julian. “I guess it explains some of the weird phrases he used, anyway. Got his accents confused.” He laughed brokenly.

Blake smiled slightly, but didn’t reply.

They sat silently for a full half-hour before Cameron looked up at his boss again worriedly. “How long does it take, Blake?” he rasped.

“How long does it take to... kill a man?”

The older man studied him as he shifted his glass back and forth on the polished bar. “With Julian, I’d say not long,” he finally answered. “But Lancaster is different.”

“He said Julian trained him.”

“From what he’s told me, yes. They both know the other’s strengths and weaknesses. They think the same,” Blake tried to explain hesitantly. “They’re like... waves crashing against each other.” He peered at Cameron, trying to gauge how he would react. “For whatever reason, someone has decided that Julian needs to be taken out of the business. And anyone in the business knows that the only man who can do that is either very, very lucky or knows how Julian thinks. Arlo is, unfortunately, both.”

“And Julian?” Cameron asked. His voice was a mere thread.

“Hard to say,” Blake answered. “If he met Arlo here, it means Arlo couldn’t find him physically. He got a message to him somehow, and God knows what he threatened him with,” he mused. “Whatever it was, it hit Julian’s buttons. That’s the only reason he would have come out tonight. He was backed into a corner.”

Cameron swallowed down on the knot of misery and dread. Could the something Lancaster threatened have been him?

“He’s protecting his territory,” Blake continued, putting his hand on the bar in front of Cameron and meeting his eyes. “His reputation, his contacts, his home. And, I believe, he’s protecting you , kiddo. Or at least the idea of you. The idea that he can have something normal without it being in danger.”

Cameron nodded slowly. “I know,” he said hoarsely, raising his hand to cover his upper chest where he could feel the warrior’s cross warm against his skin. “I hurt him badly, didn’t I?” he asked regretfully.

“Yes,” Blake answered bluntly. “The whole time I was worried about you, but... maybe you’ll get the chance to make it up to him,” he offered as condolence.

Shortly after, Preston knocked gently at the glass doors of the restaurant, and Blake hurried to let him in.

“Do you have him?” Blake demanded excitedly.

Preston merely shook his head as he unbuttoned his coat.

“I lost them both, sir,” he said in sorrow as he followed Blake back to the bar. “He’s on his own now,” he told them as he sat and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

Blake sighed and looked at the clock. It was four a.m. He inhaled deeply and let out the breath in a thin, slow exhale. All they could do now was wait.

The city lay dark and relatively silent in the muggy night. To the casual observer, there was no hint of the deadly game of cat and mouse that had been played in the streets. The sirens of police cars being called to investigate shots fired and the occasional broken window or unexplained alarm were nothing unusual.

Julian walked slowly along the sidewalk, his head down and his eyes focused solely on the next step. He understood why Arlo had made it a game. Julian had trained him, taught him almost everything he knew. They’d worked together. They’d been friends, as close as brothers. Tonight was Arlo’s version of poetic justice. Julian had tossed him out when he became too reckless, something Arlo had never forgiven him for. When Arlo received the contract for Julian’s head, he’d obviously seen the opportunity to prove to Julian just how good he was.

And Julian had to admit, the kid was good. There had been an odd sort of battlefield respect to their war games tonight. Certainly neither wanted to shoot the other in the back. Julian knew Arlo had held off on several killing shots because they hadn’t been... honorable. And, God help him, he’d done the same. But when it came down to it, he’d been forced to take the last shot. It was truly kill or be killed.

He stopped and leaned against a decorative column for protection, shivering as he tried to dispel his morbid thoughts. The shot had been taken; there was no use lingering over it. He looked up and down the road, knowing that Arlo might still be out there. Julian thought he’d killed him. He was pretty sure. But he, of all people, knew that unless he carried his enemy’s body parts with him when he left, the enemy might still be out there.

Julian pushed away from the wall and kept moving. After what seemed an eternity of slow, slightly dragging steps, he came within sight of the high-rise that hosted Tuesdays on its top floor. Julian stared at it gratefully for a long moment before soldiering on. He slid in through the revolving glass doors and stumbled to the elevators. He was relieved to find that they were still on and working even though it was late, and he leaned against the inside of the car as it soared upward.

When the elevator stopped with a jolt, Julian lurched and groaned with the sudden change of motion. He was exhausted, almost physically unable to put one foot in front of the other. The doors opened silently, and Julian stood staring at the floor blankly. Finally, he pushed away from the mirrored wall of the elevator car and began walking toward the glass doors of the restaurant.

“Is he really Irish, Preston?” Cameron asked tentatively as they sat at the bar and waited.

“He is today,” Preston answered wryly before taking a small sip of the whiskey in his hand.

Cameron sighed and let it drop. Preston obviously had the same theory as Julian when it came to straight answers. They answered your question, but not in any useful way.

They were managing to make conversation, though. Nothing important or heavy, just idle discussion, anything to force the time to pass. Cameron was hard-pressed not to ask Preston more questions he knew the man wouldn’t answer.

But the later time the clock displayed, the more frightened Cameron got. Julian had seemed to have no confidence in his ability to make it through the night, and Blake and Preston were both somber and worried. Cameron didn’t know anything about Julian’s abilities; he was forced to take his cues from the men who did.

He was taking a drink of water when Blake raised his head and half-stood to look out the glass front of the restaurant. Cameron turned, dropping his glass of water on the floor in his haste, where it shattered and sent pieces skittering across the marble floor.

Julian wasn’t walking quickly as he headed for the doors. It was obvious he could see them through the glass, but he didn’t even raise a hand to acknowledge them. He merely kept his head down, his left leg dragging a little as he limped gamely toward the doors.

Cameron almost fell over as he stood from the stool to get a better look. Julian reached out and put his hand on the locked glass door, like a little kid peering through a storefront window at a coveted toy.

Cameron stepped away from the chair and moved toward the door, Preston and Blake both at his heels, heading toward the foyer to unlock the doors. Julian’s hand slid down the glass as they came closer, leaving behind it a smeared streak of blood in the shape of his palm. He took an unsteady step away from the glass, reached out again as if trying to steady himself, and then crumpled to the ground.

Cameron froze in horror as Julian collapsed, and then he ran—ran across the foyer and skidded into the glass door just as Blake unlocked it. He yanked it open and tore around the corner. “Julian!” He dropped to his knees at the man’s side and reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Julian?”

Julian’s head lolled to the side as Blake joined them on the ground.

His eyes didn’t even flutter in response to Cameron’s voice. Blake pawed gently at his chest, his hands coming away wet with blood.

“Fuck!” he hissed as he pushed Julian’s dark suit coat aside and yanked open the shirt underneath, looking for the source. Buttons went flying and a soaked handkerchief dislodged from a spot low on Julian’s abdomen. Blood began streaming from the wound out over Julian’s exposed skin.

Cameron couldn’t catch his breath as he watched helplessly, horrified by all the blood. He bent over and pressed a soft, shaky kiss to the corner of Julian’s mouth. “Julian, please talk to me,” he begged. “Please.”

Julian groaned in response as Blake pushed up and went running back into the restaurant. Preston had disappeared.

“Cameron,” Julian whispered hoarsely.

Trying to hold back the tears that were suddenly clogging his throat, Cameron leaned to press his forehead to Julian’s. “I’m here,” he managed to get out fairly evenly.

“He got me,” Julian murmured with a shuddering gasp of air. It seemed like a silly thing to say as he lay there bleeding. It was obviously the only thing his mind could form.

“Blake’s going to help you,” Cameron promised before he choked back a soft sob. He brushed his fingers through Julian’s damp hair, searching in vain for some way to comfort him.

Blake was back just as quickly as he’d left, talking on the phone at his ear and bringing with him a stack of clean rags from behind the bar.

“Where else are you hit?” he demanded of Julian in a no-nonsense tone.

“Where there’s blood,” Julian grumbled weakly as he closed his eyes again.

Blake glared at him and put the phone to his mouth again. “He’s still a jackass, if that helps.”

Cameron didn’t stop stroking Julian’s cheek, and he was trying hard to keep it together. Julian didn’t need him to fall apart right now.

He could do this. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, surprised that his voice came out fairly steady.

Neither man answered him. Julian’s eyes remained closed as Blake spoke rapidly on the phone and then tossed it away to work on Julian’s bloody abdomen. Julian reached blindly for Cameron’s hand and gripped it weakly. Cameron laced their fingers together and squeezed reassuringly.

“I’m sorry,” Julian whispered just before Blake found the wound low in his abdomen again. He pressed a cloth into it to curb the bleeding. Julian’s body curled, and he cried out in pain.

Cameron gasped for breath and clutched at Julian’s shoulder, trying to hold him still. His eyes were drawn to the ugly-looking wound. “Jesus,” he whispered, shocked by all the blood and overwhelmed by the level of agony Julian had to be in to actually cry out.

“Did you get him?” Blake demanded of Julian as he worked.

Julian was panting for breath, unconsciously squeezing Cameron’s hand with the pain, and Blake leaned closer to him. “Did you kill him?” he repeated forcefully.

“I don’t know,” Julian gasped as he opened his eyes once more and stared up at the glass atrium above. “He fell into the lake,” he managed to tell them hoarsely.

“Fuck,” Blake hissed angrily as he reached under Julian to check if the bullet had gone all the way through. His hand came away bloody, and he reached for another towel to press to the exit wound. Julian cried out again and struggled to get away from the pain, kicking at the marble tile and trying to slide away and curl in on himself as he writhed.

Cameron grappled to keep him from moving too much. “Please, Julian, try to lie still,” he begged.

Julian growled softly, the sound turning into something like a wounded animal whining. His struggling slowed, though, and Cameron feared it was more from exhaustion and loss of blood than cooperation.

“I’ve got paramedics on the way, Jules,” Blake told him softly. “This is beyond me,” he explained in a pained voice. He glanced at Cameron worriedly. “He’ll be safe at the hospital,” he told him, “until we can confirm the hit. Hell, if he fell into Lake Michigan, the infections alone will kill him.”

Cameron nodded jerkily, and his entire body tingled with the knowledge that Lancaster might still be out there. Maybe not far away.

Maybe coming to finish the job. His breathing got short and shallow as he looked around the foyer. They were completely unprotected, weren’t they? What would happen if the man attacked them here? Even as he asked himself the question, he realized that Preston must have left in order to cover Julian’s back. He couldn’t imagine the man would leave Julian in this state unless it was to protect him.

Cameron was doing well not to gasp for breath as he tried to remain calm. The pain Julian was in was tearing him up. “Julian,” he whispered pleadingly. “Please don’t leave me.”

Julian’s grip on Cameron’s hand was becoming painful. He tried his best not to move as Blake applied pressure to the wound, but he was still writhing and bleeding on the expensive marble as his eyes began to glaze over.

He looked up at Cameron, and his eyes caught on the battered gold and garnet necklace hanging from Cameron’s neck, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. When he looked at Cameron a few moments later, it was with clear regret and resignation. “I’m sorry,” he gasped again.

Cameron’s face crumpled as Julian apologized again, and he gently kissed Julian’s lips then his forehead as his tears fell against Julian’s cheek. “You can’t leave me,” he whispered desperately. “Who’s going to protect me from the fuzzballs?”

Julian was silent in his struggle against the pain, but he turned his face up to Cameron’s and tried to meet the gentle brushes of his lips, searching for the comfort of contact. His grip on Cameron’s hand was weakening at an alarming rate.

“Get... a cat,” he finally panted in a voice so weak it was barely audible.

Cameron gasped out a small laugh despite himself, and he shook his head and ran his free hand through Julian’s hair again.

“Hold on, kiddo,” Blake urged as he applied pressure to the bleeding wound and watched the elevators impatiently for the paramedics he’d called.

“I’m sorry,” Julian managed as his eyes closed against his will.

“Julian! Please. Oh God. Julian, please... ” Cameron begged miserably, holding Julian’s hand tight and pressing his lips to his forehead between choking breaths. Julian didn’t respond as the fingers held in Cameron’s hand finally loosened and went limp.

Cameron clung to his hand even when he wasn’t holding on anymore, whispering in his ear as Blake hovered, keeping pressure on the wound and cursing emphatically until the EMTs finally showed up and pushed them both out of the way.

Cameron crawled backward to lean against the glass doors, eyes wide and wet as he watched, struggling to get enough air in as he tried equally hard not to scream out all the terror.

The day was a beautiful one, even if it was scorching hot. The trees were green and full, and the ground steamed with waves of heat from the summer sun high in the blue sky. The world seemed calm and at ease, lethargic in the heat.

The group of mourners was small, but larger than anyone present had expected. Julian Cross’ passing had come and gone with nothing more than a whisper. No official announcement had been made. No family had been contacted. No telephone calls had been exchanged to let mutual friends know he had died. None of his acquaintances had known one another. But word had got around. There were politicians and prominent businessmen mingling solemnly with humble workmen and shady criminals, all of them thinking they’d known the man.

On the morning of the funeral, the crowd had to negotiate the beautiful and haunting ground of Forest Park, forced to stand around the variety of monuments in order to get close to the grave-site.

Miri had taken Cameron shopping to get him some clothes she deemed worthy of the funeral. He ended up in all black, an ironic fact not lost on him. Black suit, black shoes, black shirt with the tiniest gray pinstripe.

Black for secrets. Black for shadows. Black for sorrow. He blended in with the rest of the crowd, but he felt absolutely and totally alone.

Blake had taken him home from the hospital that night after the doctors pronounced the time of death, and he had stayed with him all night. They’d sat in silence on the couch together, neither capable of saying anything, until they fell into fitful sleep.

Cameron had almost totally withdrawn in the three days since Julian lost all that blood just outside Tuesdays. It wasn’t something he’d be able to get over, he knew, holding his lover’s hand and watching him die. Hearing an apology as Julian’s last words, when it had been Cameron who’d needed to say it.

It had done something to Cameron. Changed him somehow. He couldn’t feel anything but the awful ache and piercing loneliness, and he wasn’t sure he ever would.

Standing here in the midst of the peaceful glen, quiet despite the crowd, it suddenly became all too real. Cameron would never see him again. He would never be able to tell Julian the things he wanted to say.

That he was sorry. That he was a fool. That he’d face any danger if he could just be with him.

He staggered from where he stood with Blake and several of the other servers from Tuesdays and pushed his way out of the group to walk across the path to a marble mausoleum. Stepping behind it, he slowly slid down the wall until he sat on the ground and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to stop the tears. He hadn’t cried since that night, since they’d pushed him away from Julian’s side.

Now the agony swelled so painfully that he thought it might choke him. But the exhaustion meant he couldn’t gasp, he couldn’t wail. He could only sit, quiet and heartbroken, while the tears streamed down his face.